


Desire is Hunger, the Fire I Breathe

by ComeAlongPond14



Series: The Riding Crop [5]
Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Anal Sex, Cunnilingus, F/M, Fingerfucking, Foursome, Light Dom/sub, M/M, Oral Sex, Riding Crops, Vaginal Fingering
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-02-13
Updated: 2014-02-13
Packaged: 2018-01-12 05:12:23
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,893
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1182321
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ComeAlongPond14/pseuds/ComeAlongPond14
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sherlock carries out his suggestion of inviting Molly to join him, John, and Greg in bed. Well, I say 'bed.' More like floor. Typical.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Desire is Hunger, the Fire I Breathe

**Author's Note:**

> So...so yeah...this is kind of...months and months late. Well, I hope you all forgive me, love me anyway, and love on this.
> 
> Title is from Cascada's "Because the Night."

_Desire is hunger is the fire I breathe;_

_Love is a banquet on which we feed._

_Come on now, try and understand_

_The way I feel, under your command..._

_Take my hand as the sun descends.._

_They can’t touch us now._

As was his habit, Sherlock did not mention his latest proposal for a few weeks, throwing himself into every case that came along without hesitation. If anything, he was busier than usual--Greg seemed to be tossing them bones every other day, and always greeted them with a wide grin and a wink when they came to the station.

John appreciated the D.I.’s attitude toward their rather unusual situation, and he looked forward to the day that Sherlock would abruptly remember his libido, and initiated their next encounter. Knowing Sherlock, it would surprise him just as much as Mycroft and Greg’s introductions to their bedroom had.

The catalyst, predictably, occurred during a visit to the morgue.

Sherlock had darted ahead, leaving John to brush off Sally’s awkward attempt at small talk. Eventually Greg rescued him, sending the sergeant back to work while the two of them continued downstairs. As they approached the large double doors, the D.I. paused to take a phone call, waving for John to go ahead.

When he pushed the door open, the sight that greeted him gave him pause. After the way Sherlock had sprung a threesome with Greg on him, he no longer feared finding his lover in compromising positions; all the same, when Sherlock had mentioned Molly Hooper, John had rather assumed it would be him (and perhaps Greg, if he was there for it) who did the touching--Sherlock just didn’t strike him as being comfortable with a woman.

And yet, it was very definitely Sherlock standing behind Molly at the morgue computer, one arm wrapped around her waist with his fingers tucked beneath the hem of her blouse, and the other hand gently drawing her hair back from her shoulder, baring the skin for him to press a light kiss to the side of her neck.

John heard the noise he made, the half-questioning, half-aroused little moan, and his body flooded with warmth as Sherlock’s eyes slid over to him, glowing aquamarine in the clinical white lighting of the room. Molly looked up as well, but only for a moment; she blushed prettily at the heat in John’s gaze, then resumed her attempt at typing, though she was clearly surrendering rapidly to Sherlock’s touch.

“John,” Sherlock murmured, and Molly let out a soft sigh when his lips moved over her skin as he spoke. “I did tell you both that I would invite her, the next time we came.” A slight smile tugged up the corners of his mouth, and he moved both his hands to Molly’s hips, drawing her back against his body more securely. Molly’s eyes widened slightly, but she was smiling as well, her cheeks a beautiful glowing pink.

The door opened behind John, and he stiffened, wondering if Molly would be spooked at having three men eyeing her this way. But apparently Sherlock had included Greg in his proposition, because Molly just blushed and smiled more, and behind John, the D.I. chuckled lowly. “I see you meant it, then, about asking her.”

Sherlock’s eyes did not shift from John’s face, and somehow, that was what reassured John more than anything. This was still their relationship, their intimacy--they brought the others in for fun, because the night belonged to them.

“Looks like she’s game,” John said softly, smiling at Molly. To his relief she nodded, finishing up whatever she’d been typing and logging off, before twisting to face Sherlock. If she had planned to say anything, though, he cut her off, his hands cupping her face almost tenderly as he leaned forward and kissed her firmly.

Fresh heat surged through John at the sight, and he had to step sideways and lean against one of the exam tables to steady himself as he watched his lover kiss the petite brunette. She responded enthusiastically, her hands flying up to tangle in his dark hair, bouncing up onto her toes to meet the kiss.

Greg moved behind John, resting one hand on his side and leaning down to press a kiss of his own to John’s neck. The shorter man pressed back against him, slinging one arm back around his neck in encouragement, and Greg hummed against his skin in amusement. “He’s beautiful when he makes his move, isn’t he?” he murmured in John’s ear, nipping softly at the lobe.

John grinned, turning to press his mouth to the other man’s cheek, rubbing his lips affectionately against the light silver stubble there. “He’s always beautiful,” he returned, and then gasped in a breath when Greg reached around and cupped him through his jeans, rubbing him gently.

Sherlock’s voice interrupted them, low and rumbling, adding to the heat pooling in John’s belly. “Baker Street?” he asked, still holding Molly close.

That made John laugh breathlessly, hating his lover for once again getting him going in a public place, working him up only to make him wait. “Oh, you bastard,” he muttered, his voice full of fondness.

They took two cabs, John and Sherlock in one and Greg and Molly in the other. It was just enough time for Sherlock to kiss away John’s doubts, remind him that he loved him, and that these occasions were for their shared pleasure.

When they reached the front door of 221, Sherlock fumbled with his keys as Greg slipped up behind him, presumably whispering a filthy reminder of exactly what the dark-haired detective had done for the D.I. the last time they’d played around. Judging from his full-body shiver as Greg murmured in his ear, Sherlock was looking forward to a repeat.

John took Molly’s hand, returning the shy smile she gave him. “Don’t feel pressure to do anything,” he told her kindly, giving her small hand a gentle squeeze. “This is all for fun.”

“I know,” she answered, some of the tension melting out of her shoulders. “Honestly, I do want this.” Ahead of them, Sherlock got the door open, and Molly grinned weakly. “I never in my life dreamed he’d ever kiss me like that, you know.” Her eyes widened, jumping to John’s face. “Not that--I mean, I know he’s yours, I didn’t mean--”

John laughed, raising her hand and kissing her knuckles lightly. “S’alright, Molly,” he assured her. “That’s why we do this. We’re together, we love each other...” He wrapped his free arm around her waist, leading her inside, nudging door shut behind them and heading for the stairs. “...and sometimes, it’s just too good to pass up a chance to share the fun.” These last few words fell against her cheek as he leaned close, kissing her jawline, and Molly shivered pleasantly, giving him a grateful smile.

As they crossed the threshold of 221B, Molly gasped audibly when they encountered Sherlock with his coat and shirt already discarded, standing in the center of the living room with Greg on his knees before him, his cock buried in the D.I.’s throat. John released Molly and moved forward, pulling Greg’s coat off his shoulders for him, then offering to take Molly’s as well. He turned to look at Sherlock expectantly, knowing his lover would have a request for them.

Sherlock shot him an appreciative look, stroking his hand through Greg’s short hair even as he raised the other toward them. “Molly,” he murmured in invitation, and she willingly stepped closer, letting him pull her in for a shockingly innocent kiss, given the circumstances. She moaned softly into his mouth, and John sighed in pleasure at the sound, tossing aside his own jacket and shirt before slowly stroking his prick through the confining fabric of his jeans.

Still sucking diligently at Sherlock’s cock, Greg reached blindly toward John, and the blonde man moved to join the trio. When he was tucked comfortably behind Molly, Greg’s hand found his belt and zipper, working unsteadily until he had both undone, and he managed to free John’s aching erection, which he began to stoke as eagerly as he was sucking Sherlock off.

John groaned in relief at the sensation, his hazy gaze meeting Sherlock’s over Molly’s shoulder. His lover was watching him hungrily, clearly loving the sight of his doctor coming undone by another man’s hand.

And then Sherlock murmured, “John, get Molly out of her clothes,” and suddenly John’s blood was on fire in his veins. He heard Molly’s whimper of pleasure, and that was all the consent he needed.

His hands slid up her sides, caressing her gently through the thin cotton of her blouse even as he angled his hips to better accommodate Greg’s hand, still stroking and squeezing his prick. Sherlock, for his part, was dividing his attention between fucking Greg’s mouth, hard, and kissing Molly’s mouth with a remarkable tenderness.

And she was clearly loving the attention, kissing him back with a hunger bordering on desperation, but shifting her arms as needed to allow John to divest her of her blouse. He hesitated at her bra strap, however, glancing up to get Sherlock’s input. When it had been just Greg joining them, it had been his game. Even when it was Mycroft, it was still really his decision, as Sherlock had only brought his brother in for John’s sake. Now, though, with a woman, he sensed it was completely Sherlock’s turn to set the pace.

His lover’s eyes were bright with love and gratitude as he drew back from kissing Molly, and smiled at John. “Leave it on,” he murmured, then paused to curse softly and thrust hard into Greg’s wide-stretched lips. To John’s astonishment, even Molly seemed more aroused by this, judging by the way she rubbed her fingers across the curve of her pussy, still covered by the tan fabric of her work trousers. “But get those off,” Sherlock added, panting, one hand dropping to tug without much coordination at her buttons.

Molly giggled, leaning back to let John obey the command, working with more confidence than Sherlock had to unbutton the trousers and slide them down her lean thighs. She stepped free of them willingly, and all three men froze for a heartbeat as they found themselves confronted by a beautiful woman in nothing but her underclothes, her face bright with arousal.

And then Molly stuck her tongue out, grabbing John’s hand and pressing it over the swell of her breast. “I know you’re all used to flat chests and cocks now, but you can’t leave me high and dry, you know.”

John couldn’t help his laugh, sliding in to tuck himself against her back and pressing a line of kisses across her shoulders, occasionally introducing just enough bite to leave small red marks on her otherwise flawless white skin. Molly shuddered with pleasure, her hips rocking forward in search of contact.

And that came when Sherlock pushed Greg off, crouching briefly to whisper in the D.I.’s ear--and Greg, with a low rumble of approval, turned where he was kneeling and leaned in, tugging aside the cotton panties Molly was wearing, and pressing his tongue to her exposed pussy. She gave a soft of cry of satisfaction, bucking slightly to grind against his face, and Sherlock pressed one more searing kiss to her lips before he slipped around the two of them to reach John.

“Is this good?” the consulting detective whispered, and it was so low, only John heard him, and he smiled at the endearing insecurity that his lover felt at introducing a woman to their dynamic.

“ _Very_ good,” he replied, tugging the man down for a hard kiss, all dominating tongue and nipping teeth, and Sherlock suddenly whimpered loudly, his body shaking--and when John glanced down, he grinned to see Molly’s hand between them, tucked into his lover’s trousers, sliding rapidly up and down his slick cock. Her eyes were still closed, her head thrown back as she basked in the pleasure of Greg’s skilled tongue working over her clit, but her hand worked hard and fast on the detective’s prick. Apparently it had a stimulating effect on her as well, because after a moment more of the two different sensations, she began to shake on her feet, then cried out, clutching Greg’s hair as she rode his tongue to orgasm.

John assumed there might be a pause, at least for her, but to his surprise and delight, she merely ducked down to kiss Greg fiercely, gasping, “Thank you!” against his lips--and then she turned on her heel, dropping to her knees and swallowing Sherlock’s cock into her mouth.

That made all three men groan, and almost without conscious thought John dropped down to join her. Their eyes met across the impressive erection sliding between her lips, and then simultaneously slid upward to get instruction from Sherlock.

The man himself looked a little bewildered by the sight of two people willingly kneeling for his cock. His voice was slightly strangled as he gasped, “Together,” and then dissolved into groans as they obliged, both moving into to lick and suck at his cock, occasionally tangling together in a dirty kiss in the process.

Overhead, John was aware of Greg speaking, of footsteps and Sherlock chuckling, and then his eyes snapped open as he felt an extremely familiar leather object strike with perfect precision over the swell of his arse, the denim protecting him from the intensity of the blow.

“Christ, Sherlock,” he muttered, shaking as he tried to remain upright, to defy to the instincts telling him to prostrate himself and to take a flogging with pleasure. “Oh, God, please.” He hadn’t meant to say the words out loud, but judging from Molly’s blown pupils, and the way she drew back from Sherlock’s cock and stared at the crop tracing lazily over his back, she didn’t find it too strange.

“On your back, John,” Sherlock murmured, and there it was, the Dominant Sherlock he knew, and John didn’t think twice about obeying, rolling over and letting Greg tug his jeans down his thighs and off, leaving him bare to their view. Molly was still kneeling, licking her lips and quivering as if she couldn’t decide what to do.

“Molly,” Sherlock murmured, and his voice was liquid sex. “Come here.” When she obediently reached his side--still kneeling, _God_ , she was perfect for them--Sherlock tangled his fingers in her thick brown hair, smiling down at her in a manner somehow both lustful and tender.

“You’re not afraid of the crop, then?” he asked softly, and she shook her head hurriedly, turning to press a kiss to his palm before tilting her head back into his caress. “Good.” Still massaging her scalp gently, he drew her close, pressing her up against the length of his leg. From John’s angle, it looked positively sinful.

“Greg, get behind him, hold him for me,” Sherlock whispered, and the D.I. didn’t hesitate, slipping to kneel behind John, pressing against him in perfect alignment, and John moaned as he felt his friend’s hard prick rubbing against him through the two layers of denim between them. Sherlock’s voice drifted to him as if from a great distance. “Hold his arms behind him, gently.” As Greg obeyed, John let one hand slink down, closing over the man’s clothed cock, sighing happily as the hips pressed against his stuttered, his grip tightening almost painfully on John’s wrists for just a heartbeat.

“Should I restrain him?” he heard Greg ask, and in front of him, Molly whimpered with pleasure at the words. Sherlock was still stroking her hair gently, and for a moment they looked to John like some beautiful illustration of a master and his pet, kneeling devotedly at his feet.

Sherlock’s voice was strong and sure, vibrating with desire. “No, use just your hands. Hold him steady for me; he’s jumpy when he’s sensitive.” His gaze tracked every movement of John’s body, and he chuckled softly. “If it helps you stay still, John, then continue to pleasure him. Open his jeans, love.”

John didn’t hesitate to obey, blindly tugging Greg’s trousers open and reaching inside, loving the way the D.I. moaned brokenly into his ear and grasped his elbows more tightly, making it impossible for him to remove his hands, even if he had wanted to.

Distantly, he heard Sherlock continue speaking. “...I will tease him with the crop until he begs to finish. If you need relief, rub against me, do you understand?” Molly must have indicated her assent, because without warning, Sherlock flicked the crop with the precision of an expert, and it struck John’s nipple with the perfect combination of gentle and stinging, making his whole body arch into the sensation with a short cry of need. A few more perfectly delivered flicks, and then several to the other side, back and forth, and John kept his eyes tightly shut, not caring that he wasn’t blindfolded, because it was overwhelming just to feel so much.

The crop traced teasingly down to his cock, and his whole body trembled, but he obediently forced himself to be still, tightening his hold on Greg’s prick to keep steady. Behind him, the taller man was panting roughly in his ear, pushing firmly into his hand to get some relief.

And then he heard Molly, her soft voice breaking into whimpers of pleasure, and when he looked at her, his whole body tightened like a bowstring when he saw her with her thighs wrapped around Sherlock’s leg, rubbing her bare pussy against the rough cloth of his trouser leg for some relief. One of her hands clutched his--the one not wielding the crop--and the other had slid back into his trousers, stroking him swiftly, even as his eyes remained fixed on John’s face, absorbing his lover’s bliss.

That was going to end him, John realized. All of this stimulation, these two people who they loved, in their own way, giving themselves to the pair for their pleasure and enjoyment--and at the core of it, it was still the two of them, as it always would be. Consumed by the pleasure of that thought, John whimpered out, “Sher--Sherlock, please--I need it, _you_ \--”

The crop swung away from him, and Sherlock nodded, easing Molly off of his leg and crouching down to kiss her lips--and then possibly to the shock of all three of the other participants, his hand dropped, slipping between her sweat-slicked thighs and pushing two fingers inside her. Molly bucked against his hand and came again, crying out his name against his lips as he fingered her through her orgasm.

When she came down a little from the high, he withdrew his hand, kissing her more gently. “What do you need?” he asked her softly, and John was stunned by his lover’s consideration for a woman whose feelings he might never have acknowledged, before their relationship began.

Molly’s face was slack, blissed-out contentment glowing in her wide eyes as she gazed dreamily back at Sherlock. “To see,” she whispered back. “I want to watch you three.”

Sherlock smiled back at her, nodding and turning his attention to the other two men. “John,” he murmured. “Suck him off, please, love.”

John was instantly turning, getting onto his knees as Greg moaned softly at Sherlock’s forthrightness, but he still managed to ask, “What about you?”

He needn’t have worried. As soon as he was kneeling, Sherlock leaned over him, sliding his trousers down to his knees and pressing unexpectedly slick fingers--when the hell did he get the lube?--to John’s entrance, whispering hotly in his ear. “Oh, don’t worry, I’m going to fuck you, John.”

Both John and Greg groaned at that, and then John was silenced as he swallowed the D.I. down, pressing forward until he felt the head of his cock nudging against his throat, and he moaned around it, pride and pleasure filling him as the vibrations made Greg’s hips stutter. And then he was moaning more, endlessly, helplessly, as Sherlock made quick work of stretching him open, before pushing inside him with as much delicacy as John supposed he could expect, when they were all this worked up, and ready to blow.

It really couldn’t last long.

Greg came first, thrusting harder and faster until he grabbed John’s hair and leaned forward, groaning, letting Sherlock tilt his face up for one quick kiss between them as he pulsed into John’s mouth. As he pulled out, what John hadn’t swallowed dribbled down his chin--but before he could be embarrassed, Molly was suddenly there, kissing his mouth and licking up the excess. His shock dissolved rapidly into pleasure as he watched her draw back, licking her lips and smiling demurely at him.

And then he found himself collapsing onto his forearms as Sherlock began to thrust harder, whether it was because he was close, or just to regain John’s full attention, he couldn’t say. It hardly mattered to him.

He pushed his hips back, groaning at the hard slap of Sherlock’s hips hitting his arse, and then he was crying out and coming, because aside from the repeated strikes of his lover’s cockhead against his prostate, Molly had slipped her hand beneath him, closing around his prick and stroking it in time to Sherlock’s thrusts, and it was too much to resist, and he shattered under their combined touch.

Another moment of thrusting, feeling John tighten and clench wonderfully around him, and Sherlock came as well, dropping down to press loving kisses across the expanse of John’s back, lapping at the gleaming sweat that beaded his skin.

Eventually John’s wits returned to him, and he found himself still lying on the floor, his head supported by Greg’s outstretched arm. Molly was tucked against his other side, her back against him, and her head resting on Sherlock’s chest.

The consulting detective did not appear to have dozed off, like his companions, but rather was lying with one arm tucked protectively over Molly, and the other reaching out so that he could alternately stroke his fingers through John’s sweat-dampened hair, and over the muscular length of Greg’s arm.

Those beautiful glasz eyes lit up when he found John looking at him, then drifted across the other two people sleeping with them. “Bit good?” he whispered, and John cracked a grin, biting back the laughter that might wake them. “Bit very good,” he agreed, stretching out his leg and awkwardly using his toes to hook the edge of the blanket lying on the sofa. Eventually the wood floor would get too hard to sleep on, but for now, who cared.

Sherlock was gazing absently over his shoulder at Greg, and a mischievous smile flashed across his face--John’s only warning. “Next time, I say you and I keep Molly a bit more to ourselves, and we get Mycroft in to handle Greg. They fancy each other, anyway.”

John smothered his shocked laughter, settling for poking his lover hard in the shoulder, before letting his hand drop to Molly’s side, stroking the soft skin and smiling as she mumbled contentedly in her sleep.

“Bring it on, love.”

**Author's Note:**

> ....foursomes are frigging hard to write, I can't believe I just proposed a five-way at the end. XD
> 
> And if it is of interest/you're a visual reader, this is kind of how I picture Molly with her freak on, something sort of sexy and matching, but innocent all the same. http://www.victoriassecret.com/panties/cheekies-and-cheekinis/dream-angels-lace-cheekini-angels-by-victorias-secret?ProductID=151694&CatalogueType=OLS
> 
> ...I need to learn to put links in an easier ways.


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